The Haircut Debacle
by Elenast
Summary: Prompt: "When Sam was a kid, he had a really bad haircut experience from a salon that John dropped him off at. And I mean horrible. That's why he refuses to cut his hair so strongly."


The Haircut Debacle

By Elenast

Prompt: "When Sam was a kid, he had a really bad haircut experience from a salon that John dropped him off at. And I mean horrible. That's why he refuses to cut his hair so strongly."

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I own nothing

AN: Just a silly little thing I wrote whilst waiting for the bus. Much love and huggles to Shift1085, my sister and Beta.

_-0o0o0-_

John Winchester had decided that it was high time for Sam to get a haircut. He had no problem with his offspring shirking on their schoolwork, wielding weapons of (arguably) mass destruction, and being unsupervised for days at a time. But shaggy hair? Unacceptable. Sam, to put it lightly, was unenthusiastic about his father's mandate.

"My hair is fine!" he protested, shaking bangs out of his eyes.

"No, it's not," was John's witty rebuttal.

"But-"

"No arguments!"

"But, I don't-"

"This is non-negotiable. You _will_ get a haircut, Sam," snapped John, assuming his 'I am Sir and thou shalt obey me' persona.

Sam's protests were quelled. One does not simply disobey a direct order from John Winchester.

_-0o0o-_

Sam pressed his forehead against the window of the Impala, glowering at all and sundry. John could make him get a haircut, but he couldn't force him to be happy about it. They pulled up at the first salon John happened across.

Sam did not move.

"Go on," John urged impatiently, eager to be off.

Sighing, Sam slipped out of the car and forlornly watched his father speed off, presumably to go kill things. He turned to gaze at the barber shop. The sign read "Short Cuts! Hair cuts for 10$ or Less!". He could vaguely make out figures lurking behind the grimy windows. Sam entered the shop with a considerable amount of apprehension, the bell mounted above the door giving a half-hearted jangle. The walls were plastered with pictures of the most horrific hairstyles that the 70's had to offer. This was not encouraging.

A cursory glance around the room revealed a shabby waiting area, plastic covered barber chairs, hair-washing sinks of questionable sanitariness, creepy-looking mannequins arrayed in ratty wigs, and a dented metal machine with a sign that demanded he "take a number and wait". Sam took a number and waited. He found himself subconsciously tapping out a nervous beat on the scuffed up floors, then berated himself when he realized what he was doing. It was just a stupid haircut. No big deal.

Right?

Sam's number was called. He gingerly sank into a chair, fervently wishing himself anywhere else.

"Which cut do you want?" demanded the hairdresser, gesturing impatiently to the generic (and hideous) options.

"Er…Could you just trim it?" Sam requested tentatively.

The barber gave a noncommittal grunt that Sam hoped translated to "yes".

"Hold still," he commanded, brandishing his clippers.

_Snip, snip, snip._

Ominously large quantities of hair drifted to the ground.

_Snip_.

Sam resisted the urge to squirm around.

_Snip…snip, snip._

He was in the grips of suspense.

_Snip._

Sam had always hated suspense.

A pause, and one last _snip._

Then it was over.

"There ya go, kid," said the hairdresser, shoving a mirror into his hand.

Sam looked into the mirror.

Ice water flooded his veins.

His heart sank to the ground.

Dean would never let him live this down.

He would have to hide it.

_-0o0o0-_

Dean was sprawled out on the chintzy motel bed, channel-chasing with utmost absorption. He tensed when he heard somebody (some_thing_?) jiggling the doorknob. His hand twitched towards the knife stowed under his pillow. He relaxed when he saw that it was just Sam, back from his haircut. Oddly enough, he was sporting a lumpy, lurid-purple beanie. That was…peculiar, to say the least. Sam wasn't a hat-wearing type of kid. Especially not purple ones.

"What's up with the hat?" Dean asked.

Sam mumbled something inaudible in response. Dean shrugged, biding his time. Sam sat down next to him on the bed, looking passably like a deer about to bolt.

(Dean sniggered slightly at the mental image)

Dean didn't give him any cause to worry, feigning interest in the TV. Eventually, Sam let his guard down and became absorbed with the program. Dean made his move, snagging the hat from his little brother's head with ninja-like precision. He gaped at what lay underneath.

The hair was long in some places, cropped short in others. The locks were lopped off unevenly, creating a jagged effect. To add insult to injury, the humid air outside had caused Sam's hair to curl and frizz. It looked…well, it looked indescribable.

Dean tried valiantly to keep a straight face. His composure crumbled within seconds, and he let loose with howls of laughter. After all, it was his prerogative as an elder brother to mock Sammy mercilessly.

"Dude, I'm sorry, but…" he trailed off, unable to continue due to his chortling.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam snapped, snatching his hat back and cramming it over his hair.

Dean sobered instantly, his 'protective big brother' instincts kicking in. "Hey, it could be worse. It's just hair; it'll grow back."

Sam didn't answer, as he was too busy staring moodily out the window and studiously ignoring his brother. Dean sighed, wondering what one should do in this type of situation. Then he strode over to the dresser. He rummaged around in a drawer for a minute, emerging triumphantly with a pair of scissors.

"Sit down."

"Why?" Sam asked, eyeing the scissors warily.

"I'm not gonna shank you," Dean snorted. "I'm gonna try to fix your hair,"

"What if you mess it up!" protested Sam.

"It's not like I can actually make it any worse," Dean pointed out.

Sam admitted that this was the case. He sat down on the rim of the tub and allowed Dean to snip at his hair. Eventually, Dean waved him towards the mirror with an air of 'behold my masterpiece, ain't I a nice guy?'. Sam was pleasantly surprised with the results of Dean's little venture into barberdom. His hair still looked slightly strange, but the ends were now evened out, and some of the bald spots were concealed.

"It's actually not bad!" he said.

"_Not bad_?" asked Dean indignantly, offended on his work's behalf.

"Yeah," Sam said in an unimpressed manner, galling his brother just for the fun of it (and as revenge for Dean's little chuckle-fest). "I mean, you could have done _better_…"

"See if I don't chop the rest of it off at night, just for that," Dean shot back, feigning outrage.

"I'd like to see you try."

_-0o0o-_

True to Dean's word, the hair did eventually grow back. Dean never did carry though with his threat of a stealth attack on Sam's hair. Sam still wore the beanie for several months, just until it grew out - the hat garnered many a strange look.

However, Sam never got over his aversion towards haircuts.

Demons and Angels? No big deal.

Vampires, werewolves, and zombies? He could handle it.

The Apocalypse? No problem.

But the prospect of a pair of scissors coming within a yard of his hair was enough to make his blood run cold.

_End_

AN: I apologize if (_that)_ this is so weird. Sleep deprivation will do that to ya'.

But seriously, I would cry tears of joy if Sam cut his hair in season 9. It's getting scarily long. Reviews, as always, are cherished.


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